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Monday, 30 September 2013

In many ways,'Rest In Peace Department' is a pretty bold failure. Any movie which so closely apes not only Men In Black, but also Ghostbusters should quite rightly fall flat on its arse. But it's not the homage-by-numbers that holds the film back; it's the chemistry between the leads (or lack thereof, to be specific). Both Reynolds and Bridges are great as their respective resurrected-law-enforcers, there's just no zing between them, and whether director Schwentke likes it or not, that spark is what makes a buddy-cop movie work. While they read their lines with conviction, it just seems like someone else should be sitting in their seats, and having more fun.

Outside of that central niggle, the movie pretty much works for me. Some of the CGI does its job nicely, some of it doesn't, and the same goes for the 3D. The script and its delivery are frequently chucklesome, but if its guffaws you're after, you may feel a little put out. Speaking of being shortchanged, the concept of using Marissa Miller and James Hong for Bridges' and Reynolds' respective land-of-the-living counterparts is nowhere near as overused as the trailer would suggest. This is probably for the best, but I do think that a lot of R.I.P.D.'s strongest visual comedy comes from that juxtaposition, and as I've said - this movie can use all the help it can get. Stephanie Szostak has an interesting role as Reynolds' widow - interesting in that I couldn't place where I knew her from during the film, but got outside and realised she's in Iron Man 3 as the fake FBI agent in the bar-fight scene, and then I realised how underwritten her part is in this film. Elsewhere, we get Kevin Bacon as the dial-a-villain, and while he does a serviceable job, so would many other actors in that role. Again, the flat writing borders on wasting the talent*1.

I found R.I.P.D. to be entertaining, but ultimately very, very empty; even if it was pretty much exactly what the trailer promised. While the 3D's a take-it-or-leave-it affair, I would recommend that if you're going to see this, take advantage of Orange Wednesdays and do it at the flicks. Because I suspect that a lot of the charm the movie does have will be lost in translation to the small screen.

Yeah. Yeah, that's it.

I chuckled quite a bit. Sue me.

Hand on heart? No.

Cinema for best effect, but it's not essential viewing by any means.

Not at all.

At some point, but not for a while.

I think I heard one buried in there during the finale when they've got the massive portal open. But it's pretty much white noise by that point, so I can't be at all certain.

There's nothing after the credits. That means no sequel, right? Please?

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Sunday, 29 September 2013

You know that thing, where you're in a cinema on a Saturday afternoon, and you're one of the youngest people there despite being forty, and all the ads are for luxury saloons and UK tourism, and during the film you hear the audience audibly laughing and you think "What was that for? That wasn't a 'JOKE'-joke, was it? I mean, I smirked, but I don't think it warranted a 'look at me, I really appreciate the layered humour in this subtle comedy", type guffaw, and then they do it again, and the more the audience laugh and you don't, the more you resent them for it, not because you feel stupid for not publicly registering the situational callbacks which have almost no inherent comedy value, but because their self-indulgent chuckling is like trying to clap the loudest at a classical concert, and for fuck's sake it just wasn't that funny anyway?

That.

And it's the second time this year it's happened. Next time I'll fucking shush them, I swear. Anyway. I went to see the new Woody Allen film, so what was I expecting?

So, for Blue Jasmine, I think Cate Blanchett is giving a stunningly understated performance of someone who's lost their grip on reality, in a moving and thought-provoking film that subtly draws you into wanting to know more about her damaged character. Unfortunately, she seems to be alone in such an endeavour (and I include Woody Allen in that). Everything surrounding Blanchett's Jasmine is a jumbled smugfest that can't successfully spin the plates of quirky comedy and troubling drama well enough to work cohesively.

At several points throughout the film, I realised I had no idea where the story itself was heading. This is largely because Blue Jasmine doesn't have a particularly strong narrative as such, and is more of a character piece. Sadly, too much time is spent in the company of characters who are lacking just that. The subplot with Jasmine's sister Ginger seems fairly inconsequential as she's not given enough depth or development for the audience to care about her. A lot of Jasmine's past is revealed in flashback sequences which are loosely scattered (with varying durations) throughout the film. Sometimes they support a timely reveal when we return to the present, but for the most part they don't: they're just illustrating events which have already been verbally described by Jasmine or those around her, earlier in the present-tense setting. Not funny enough to be a comedy; not deep enough to be a drama. There. I said it.

From the story and its associated issues, and from Cate Blanchett's performance, I think there's a stronger, more engaging film to be made of Blue Jasmine.

Just not by Woody Allen.

Oh, that's about it, yes.

Evidently not.

Oh, probably.

Just watch it on the telly, unless you're a Woody Allen fan in which case you're probably sat there tutting at me.

There's a chance of that.

I can't imagine so.

There isn't.

In the trailer, did you laugh at the line about the Xanax? Because I know about a hundred and fifty people who thought it was the funniest thing they'd heard all week, apparently.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Berry, Eklund and Breslin all put in very respectable performances as a 911 operator, kidnapper and kidnappee, considering the pantomime The Call turns into by the final act. As with many high-stakes thrillers, there are regular spikes of "oh, that wouldn't happen!" throughout, but when call centre worker Jordan pulls a Scooby-Doo and decides to infiltrate the known-murderer's underground lair - unarmed and alone - you know you've veered into Made-for-TV territory (and/or Straight-to-Video territory as the film skirts around turning into a Hostel ripoff for the finale).

Notwithstanding this escalation, I think the thing which caused me the most disconnect was Jordan telling a bunch of new-recruit 911 operators that they have to stay emotionally detatched, despite being completely unable to do so herself, both before and after that speech. I'm not doubting that the job is emotionally distressing; I'm doubting that the room would be as generally calm as it appears in the film. I imagine a job consisting of spending 8+ hours a day speaking to people who are scared / bleeding / on-fire would have a fairly high turnover rate, and I doubt that someone as clearly sensitive as Berry's Jordan would have lasted a week, never mind got to the point where she's training inductees.

But it is enjoyable, and the first 70 minutes are incredibly tight.

The parts of The Call which operate as a tense crime thriller work very well, even if the film doesn't break any new ground. The part that's Mystery Inc vs Hannibal… not so much.

Pretty much.

For the first 70 minutes, yes.

For the first 70 minutes, yes.

With the best will in the world, this is a DVD..

No.

Maybe.

Not that I heard.

1) Thinking of building an subterranean torture-lair, but don't want to use a house basement (too obvious). How do I run gas, water and electricity to it without the authorities finding out?
2) How did the killer get that wardrobe into his subterranean torture-lair? The hatch was nowhere near big enough for it to fit through and it doesn't look like an Ikea-job.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Saturday, 28 September 2013

I wanted to like this. Really, I did. Timberlake and Arterton aren't going to change the world, but they're usually a good bet to turn up and read their lines, and I enjoy watching Affleck, even if I don't like some of the movies he's been in. But Runner Runner is like a celluloid anaesthetic, and they only make it worse, somehow. In different hands (and with a different cast), this could have bee a slick, tense thriller, yet Brad Furman's made a plodding, clockwork also-ran, filled with characters you don't care about, either way.

This was the main problem for me; I didn't hate Affleck's corrupt, double-crossing casino-lord, Ivan Block, and I didn't side with Timberlake's naive, greedy, smart-arsed maths genius, Richie Furst (and Arterton's one-note wonder, Rebecca, could have been played by anyone, she had so little to do). I didn't even form an opinion either way on Mackie's hard-nosed, rough-diamond, corner-cutting FBI agent, Shavers. I just spent an hour and a half not really giving a shit about them either way; I didn't have to as everything in the story is so linear that you don't need to wonder how it's going to end.

It never gets 'terrible', but Runner Runner is so dull it never even breaks into a jog. If you want to see a movie where a student gets into money problems with gambling to try and fund his tuition, 21 isn't too shabby (despite the RT score).

Not really; the trailer looks fairly interesting.

Not really.

Not really.

DVD, tops.

Not really.

Not really.

There isn't, no.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Well, I'll be honest, I expected more. Oh, I knew SNF wasn't going to be a shiny-toothed dance-fest, and that we were going to see some Gritty Noo Yoik™ in between the scenes of flashing lights and stomping feet, but what I didn't expect was just under two hours of stilted, mumbled, inconsequential dialogue, delivered appallingly by actors playing characters that I couldn't bring myself to like in any way, shape or form.

Worse than all this, it's boring. Fucking. Boring.

Travolta and Gorney have got the moves alright, but their characters are so deeply flawed that their dancefloor scenes have all the atmosphere of a meeting with an estate agent. The longer the film goes on, the less joy there is in Tony's dancing, as the realisation sets in that not only has he surrounded himself with arseholes, but he fits into this equation perfectly himself. The only character of any interest is Tony's brother, Frank Jr, who's left the priesthood to the disappointment of his religious Italian family. He arrives, tells Tony he's great at dancing, then fucks off in a cardigan. Then nothing happens for a bit. Then there's a rigged dancing competition, an attempted rape, an actual rape, an accidental suicide, and Tony having a bit of a cry into a freezeframe while the credits do their best to sell you the soundtrack.

I don't even think that the problem lies in the film ageing badly; I can imagine it being just as exploitative and emotionally bankrupt in 1977, too. Because it's difficult for me to hold any sympathy for a character who tells a woman she's a cunt while she's crying after he's watched her being raped by his friend.

By the time something finally does happen to the characters, you really wish it hadn't (although not out of any sympathy for them). It's not that the Saturday Night Fever is uncomfortably stark in forcing the audience to confront issues, just that it's tedious and inherently unlikeable.

Well, the trailer's as dull as the film, so…

Nope.

For me, no.

Don't bother. Really.

Yes. I will.

Will I bollocks.

No.

How do you make the Bee Gees boring? Seriously? What the actual fuck?

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.